


Dance the Warrior

by samescenes



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Post-Series, imagine a universe where everyone is older and wiser and a bit more sexually free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 22:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10500738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samescenes/pseuds/samescenes
Summary: Twenty-four hours. A working vacation. Heavy on the vacation.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little something that's very old and very cleaned up.

There must be fifteen demons; maybe twenty. They rise out of the bottom of a lake, which is at the bottom of a cave, which is really not a great place for some kind of tactical ambush, but needs must. Soundless, they spread out in formation: groups of three, like Giles said they would. It’s dark, and Buffy and Faith put out the lamp ten minutes ago so they could lie in wait. Buffy guesses it’s a good thing their eyes glow in the dark, like those demon fishes on the Discovery Channel.

“How do you want to do this?” Buffy says.

Faith grins in the dark, hefting her sword over her shoulder. Blue blood drips off the end, mucus thick; the remains of the sentries.

Buffy rolls her eyes. “I don’t know why I even ask,” she says, but Faith’s already launched herself from behind their cover, trying her best Xena yell. The first demon is dismembered before Buffy throws her first punch, the head rolling to rest at Buffy’s feet.

“One!” Faith yells.

Buffy ducks, swings, and more heads fall. The blood stings where it touches her skin; beheading is so messy.

“Three!” she yells.

-

“Still wasn’t a date,” Buffy says. “Dates don’t usually involve unknown body fluids.”

“The best do,” Faith says, leering. She throws an arm over Buffy’s shoulder, reeling her in so Buffy falls into her side.

“Urgh,” Buffy says, and tries to shrug out of Faith’s grasp, but Faith laughs, sharp and clear, and twists around so she’s still holding on. They grapple right there on the street, Buffy shoving at Faith while Faith’s arms wind tight around her waist. 

“Unhand me!” Buffy yells when Faith pins her arms.

But Faith doesn’t let go until Buffy starts fighting dirty, kicking Faith in the shin. Faith hops away, feigning hurt.

“We should get home and wash off,” Buffy says, gruff. “You don’t know what those demon juices’ll do to you.”

Faith gasps, insincere. “You _do_ care,” she says.

-

“Seriously?” Faith says as she walks in the door.

Buffy shrugs behind her, stepping over the threshold. “Small, simple, gets the job done.”

“But there’s no pizzazz. Give me a knife, something that needs some mad skill, you know? But a stake?” Faith makes a face. “Boring.”

Buffy rolls her eyes. “Or the scythe.”

Faith sighs. “Now there’s a weapon.” They both turn to look at it, propped in the corner.

“I think it’s angry with us for leaving it,” Buffy says. There’s a moment of respectful silence.

“Even looking at it is getting me hot,” Faith says, ruining it.

-

Faith strips in the middle of room, the windows still wide open so any passerby could see.

“Faith!” Buffy gasps, voice strangled, but Faith grins. She’s got an already-fading bruise beneath her ribs, and her skin is red and irritated where it’s touched the demon blood.

“Thought you might wanna help me wash this stuff off,” she says, eyes wide and voice dripping with mock innocence. She grabs Buffy’s wrist, pulling her in so they’re chest to chest. She’s a little taller than Buffy, and she has to lean down a fraction to kiss her on the lips. 

“Unhand me,” Buffy says, smiling. She’s a mess; there’s a cold prickling under the demon ichor, and a hot sweat under where Faith’s skin touches hers.

-

Faith sleeps coiled, knees drawn up in a child’s pose. When Buffy moves closer in the night – so what if she’s a snuggler? – she often gets an elbow in the chest as Faith shifts restlessly. Buffy’s tried wearing her out; tried both fighting and sex, hurtling them both headfirst into a hydra’s lair or making Faith come so often one orgasm crashes into another. But Faith still flinches when she sneaks one arm over her waist, curling around her stomach.

“Don’t suffocate me,” Faith says, voice thick with sleep.

“Take it, bitch,” Buffy says, twining their legs together.

-

When Buffy wakes in the morning, Faith is already drawing a finger down the center of her, kissing the inside of her thighs. Faith must know when she wakes, because she murmurs, “Just relax,” and fixes her mouth over Buffy, sucking lightly. Buffy moans, making a high, surprised sound, and sinks her hands into Faith’s hair. She rocks into Faith’s mouth, fingers clenching, unclenching, clenching again. She’s desperate, hot for it, Faith’s got her going from zero to a hundred literally in the time it takes her her to open her eyes, but Faith seems content to draw it out until Buffy pants, “Faith, oh – please, please I –” and Faith puts two fingers inside her, working her, stretching Buffy’s cunt until Buffy comes, arching off the bed.

When it’s over, Buffy slumps, staring blindly at the ceiling. 

“Good morning,” Faith says, rolling her r’s.

Buffy just hums in reply. With Faith still in between her legs, Buffy stretches, toes pointing toward the end of the mattress, fingers curled up over the top of the headboard. She makes a satisfied sound in the back of her throat, a little purr that speaks of nothing so much as a cat well-fed and petted. 

“Getting up, princess?” Faith says around her grin.

“I think it’s nap time already,” Buffy says, turning on her side, forcing Faith to roll over to avoid the closing scissor of her thighs. She punches her pillow a few times, and closes her eyes. 

“Behold,” Faith says, “the savior of the modern world.”

-

The sun hangs high, and Buffy makes Faith go through their rented one-bedroom apartment, closing the blinds and trying to block as much light as possible, although it's hard to keep the heat out when half the slats are broken or missing, and the ceiling fan is about as useful as a rusted art installation, at this point. The Watcher's Council sure had stopped spending big.

“Maybe we should go out?” Faith says. “We’re running out of coffee. And toothpaste. But coffee.” It’s not very convincing, though – Faith hasn’t bothered to change out of her panties and a stained singlet, stretched and saggy around her breasts. 

“We’ll get some tomorrow,” Buffy says. “We’re taking the day off.” She lifts the sheet, so Faith can curl in behind her.

“Don’t you know how to take a day off?” she says, when Faith huffs.

“What happened to that young blonde-haired teen with the weight of the world on her shoulders? I miss her.”

“No you don’t.” Buffy says.

“I really don’t,” Faith says, pressing a kiss on Buffy’s bare back, right between her shoulderblades.

-

“I’m bored,” Faith says. It’s muffled from where her face is half-pressed into Buffy’s stomach. The rest of her is curled around Buffy like a comma, her feet hanging off the end of the bed while Buffy is propped up against the headboard, reading.

Buffy doesn’t look away from her book, but one hand moves to scratch lightly at Faith’s scalp, running her hand down the back of her neck, and up to start again.

It’s nice, but it satisfies Faith for only another minute.

“I’m _really_ bored,” she says. She turns her head around, and Buffy sweeps her hair away from where it’s fallen across her face. When Faith sees the title of the book, Buffy refuses to be ashamed. _Her Majesty’s Secret Lover_ came highly recommended. From the Watcher’s secretarial pool.

“How’s the book?” Faith says.

Buffy shrugs.

“Is it hot?”

Buffy groans. “Of course that’s what you wanna know.”

Faith’s smiling, small and secretive, and it’s so easy for Buffy to believe this is a Faith that only she has ever got to see. She scoots a little further down the bed, rolling onto her stomach, parting Buffy’s knees with one single, slow-moving finger, giving Buffy plenty of time to realise what’s happening. 

“Again? Oh wow, we’re - yep, let’s - oh, you’re really - okay, sure -” Buffy says, sliding down the bed when Faith yanks her even closer. 

“I’m bored, so you gotta entertain me,” Faith says, still grinning, hooking her fingers in Buffy’s underwear so she’s got to raise her hips so Faith can roll them down and away.

“Ah,” Faith sighs, close enough Buffy can feel the air from her breath.

“Sure, totally, okay,” Buffy says.

-

When the phone rings, Faith doesn’t move. Buffy huffs.

“Hello?” she says.

_“Buffy. I just wondered how things are faring over there.”_

“Fine, Giles.”

_“The Kilswurf demon infestation?”_

“They’re itty bitty gooey pieces. Except not the yummy melted-chocolate-chip gooey. The gross off-Jell-O-that’s-been-shoved-to-the-back-of-the-fridge gooey.”

_“Excellent. You’re coming back soon, I trust?”_

“I’m afraid not. There’s a, uh. Vampire colony. Underground,” Buffy spins. Faith nods emphatically, and gestures for Buffy to continue. “Me and Faith, we’re going to, you know. Nip this thing in the bud. Stop it before it takes root in the community. Save small children.”

Faith smirks. Buffy shrugs.

-

“Put on your dancing shoes,” Faith says, tucking a stake into her boot. “We’re going on a date.”

When they get to the cemetery, Buffy’s sneakers sink deep into the mud, making squelching noises as she walks. 

“Real fucking stealthy, Summers,” Faith snorts, earning herself an elbow in the side.

“This is still not a date,” Buffy says. 

“I _paid_ ,” Faith says, a wounded hand over her heart, her other gesturing at the Slurpees they both held.

“You never take me anywhere nice, though,” Buffy says.

“Oh baby,” Faith says, mocking. “Next week, I promise I’ll take you to a good old-fashioned Satanic massacre. I’ll let you grind all that black lipstick under your boot heel.”

“Promises, promises,” Buffy says. She takes one last sip of her lemon-lime Slurpee, sets it on top of a tombstone, and slides into a crouch as the first vampire approaches. She kicks high and it stumbles backward, right onto Faith’s stake.

“One,” Faith crows.


End file.
